


Festis Bei Umo Canavarum

by HigheverRains



Series: HigheverRains Presents... [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bondage, Dominance, M/M, Shameless Smut, Thedas' Most Bangable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-18 22:07:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4722134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigheverRains/pseuds/HigheverRains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I won’t be lasting very long. And there’s a very high chance we’ll be spoiling the Inquisitor’s sheets.”</p><p>“They’ll dry,” Bull said with a laughing tone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Festis Bei Umo Canavarum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fen_Assan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fen_Assan/gifts).



> WARNINGS: sex (explicit), dominance, bondage
> 
> Comments always welcome ;)

“This is entirely improper,” he said archly, pulling back against the Iron Bull’s grip until the Qunari let him go and shot him a one-eyed, amused glare. 

“Of course it is. That’s the point.” He nodded towards the last steps. “You really want to see this though. You _really_ want to.” 

The delivery had apparently been made last week, in honor of the official alliance between the Inquisition and the Qunari peoples. The alliance itself had yet to be formally solidified, but Inquisitor Adaar had accepted the gifts of friendship, mostly because Lady Montilyet had told him to do otherwise would be seen as an offense. The halls were full of large bronze statues that glittered in the light from the braziers, depicting Qunari men and women armed for war in various states of undress. Sera had been salivating over them for the entire week. But the true prize, the real forbidden fruit on the top of the entire delicious package, was hidden away, the private property of the Inquisitor himself. 

Dorian had heard the rumors. Even though it was entirely naughty to be creeping about the private quarters of various members of the Inquisition, he could not help but feel a little curiosity at the masterpiece that was simply referred to as possibly the most outrageous bed that had ever been made. So he gave the Iron Bull a cursory stare, pursing his lips, and then skirted the Qunari to climb the last few steps. 

And there it was, dominating the room. Great statues that matched those in the hall were hauling on golden ropes the outline of a Qunari dreadnaught’s prow. The statues were stark naked. The bed was nestled somewhere between, covered in pillows that had been sewn of fine, vibrantly colored silk, and a sheet the color of flames that seemed like it was burning in the center of the room. The light streaming through the stained glass made the entire chamber dazzle in a rosy hews. Dorian grinned.

“What is _that_?” he said, glancing back with an arched eyebrow. The Iron Bull gave a low chuckle back in his throat, the one that was ripe with mischief, and Dorian felt thick, warm hands tracing the outline of his spine. The man leaned close, his breath hot against Dorian’s neck and ear. It tickled, and it made something rush straight from his head to his groan. He cleared his throat quietly, struggling against the sensation. 

“Opportunity,” that insufferable savage purred and Dorian’s lips parted a little as teeth grazed the shell of his ear before the man drew back.

“No.” He spun about, shaking his head. “No! This is the Inquisitor’s bedchamber and the Inquisitor’s bed.” 

“You know what you need, Dorian?” the Qunari smirked, backing him against the dividing wall that lined the steps, his flesh bathed in the orange and red light from the windows. 

“I need to leave this room. Immediately. Before someone sees! What will they think? Hmm?” 

“They’ll be jealous,” Bull said and climbed the steps then, leaving him there. Dorian gave a desperate hiss and then hurried after him.

“Any minute now, the Inquisitor will return, and – ”

“That’s half the fun.” Large Qunari hands traced the outline of pectoral muscles on the chest of one of the statues. “But if you’re so worried, the Inquisitor is in a War Council, and I bribed Red to keep him there awhile.” 

“You told Leliana about this?” Dorian said, feeling a flush of embarrassment. Maker’s blood, the brute was insufferable.

And the whole thing made a flush of anticipation rush through him. His hazel eyes settled on the bed.

“No…” he said again, but with less vehemence this time. Iron Bull gave him a gentle smile, then let his hand drop from the statue. 

“Alright,” he said simply, and stepped away, retreating back towards the stairs like the entire thing was over. Dorian felt an ache. 

“Wait.” He did not look back. But he heard the Iron Bull on the steps. “I…we…really, this is…”

“Sorry? I didn’t catch that.” He glowered at the larger man who gave him a sly grin. 

“The Inquisitor is not going to return?” Dorian said simply. His hand crept to the nearest statue. It was cold to the touch. The Iron Bull watched him with a knowing smirk. 

“No. I promise, Kadan.” Dorian drew a wary breath, then looked away.

“It…It would be a shame not to even…” The Qunari mercenary took the distance between them in two strides, catching Dorian’s arm on the statue and then bending over him, quicksilver eye meeting Dorian’s, his iron eyepatch glistening a little in the light. Their lips were almost touching. Dorian stood his ground.

“Say it,” the Bull said in a low hum. Dorian tipped his head back airily.

“I hate you. Fuck me on this absolutely ridiculous bed before someone sees.” The Qunari grinned and then bent to catch Dorian’s mouth with his own. He walked him backwards then, a wall of muscle and power, and Dorian’s breath caught as his the backs of his knees hit the mattress. Even that was firm. His back hit the mattress and the Bull stood over him, considering. And then he gave a sly grin, stepping back.

Dorian felt a wave of confusion through the haze of lust and turned to watch as the Bull crossed to the nearest windows and tore the silk cords from the hooks on the walls, letting the draperies hang loose. 

“Maker! We’ll have to redecorate the whole drab room!” Dorian exclaimed with irritation, but the Iron Bull ignored him a moment, repeating the process at each curtain until an entire wall of windows had fallen closed. The light came in from the other side and lit the curtains with a mosaic of colorful light. 

The Iron Bull crossed the chamber again, testing the twisted silk cords in his hands, and then knelt over Dorian who tensed a little, quivering with anticipation. His pupil in his remaining eye was wide with lust and want.

“Tell me,” he said in a quiet hum, “to stop.” It was an offer. Dorian declined.

“Don’t you dare,” he said curtly. The Qunari grinned and looped the first cord about the statue at the end of the bed, pressing Dorian down into the mattress and kissing him breathless. Dorian hardly noticed as the cord drew tight about his hand, knots tied with experienced hands, firm and secure but not too tight. He drew in a low hiss of a breath, and the Iron Bull pulled back before pushing him over onto his side, then onto his stomach. Dorian gave a groan and a low laugh. “Ah, I see how this is going to go.”

“Do not set fire to the curtains again. Everything else, we can fix.” He moved to trail a line of heated kisses along Dorian’s neck as he moved to tie his other arm. Dorian gave a soft groan and the Qunari chuckled before unbuckling the straps that held his robes in place. They slipped free, and Dorian felt the shiver of exposed flesh. 

“Don’t tease me…” he grumbled.

“You like it,” Bull replied behind him. Dorian tried to turn his head, to see what the Qunari was up to, but he couldn’t. The man stayed where he was hidden, and Dorian glowered. And then he felt hands at his hips, tracing lines of fire on his flesh there with thick fingers, and he closed his eyes with a groan. 

It tickled a little, those light touches. And then the belt loosened about his waist and he felt his hips being pulled up until he was prostrated atop the Inquisitor’s bed with his hindquarters raised into the air like an unseemly harlot. He tucked his head down into the mattress, giving a low groan, and the Qunari’s hands slipped his trousers from his hips. 

And then he was completely bare, panting softly into the covers. The straining member between his thighs was lightly brushing the rough silk of the bed below, a teasing all its own. He caught his lower lip between his teeth and grimaced against it, but that only made him focus more. He gave a weak chuckle, shaking his head.

“Bull…” 

He felt the cords tighten next about his ankles, and unfurled until he was tied spread-eagled on the bed, face-down for the world to see. He closed his eyes, feeling the heated flush on his cheeks, and bucked his hips a little. And then he groaned again.

“Yes?” Bull asked innocently as he tied off the last of the silk cords.

“I won’t be lasting very long. And there’s a very high chance we’ll be spoiling the Inquisitor’s sheets.” 

“They’ll dry,” Bull said with a laughing tone and then his teeth caught at Dorian’s hip, nipping there, making Dorian’s breath catch. “Let _me_ worry about that.” Dorian could hardly think of anything. And then Bull’s large hands crept over the globes of his bottom and caressed the line of pure pressure that made him cry out a surrendering moan and bury his head again, grinning like a fool. 

“You’re incorrigible,” he gasped. The Qunari made no reply. He simply unbuckled his belt, and then the warmth of Orlesian oil, smelling of spice and passion, met Dorian’s skin. 

“You like it,” Bull murmured, but his breath was catching as well. “You know the word if you want to stop.” And then his fingers, slick with oil, traced a circle about his opening and Dorian groaned, pushing back against him, and panting. 

“You…heh…one day…” The words did not come fully formed. So instead he just felt the slight burn, the intense pressure, as one of Bull’s fingers slipped inside him. The damn mercenary had proven the first time he’d done this sort of thing before. He was careful, and he knew all the right ways to touch and tease. Teeth found his hip again, and Dorian tipped his head down further, pressing his brow into the rough silk and focusing on the fierce fire building in his loins. 

And then the Iron Bull’s finger caught the spot inside him that brought him near to tears with the flood of pleasure that washed through him like wildfire. He almost burned alive. His vision went a blinding white, and he felt a wave of dizziness, and he gasped for breath, hands curling into fists about the ropes at his wrists, pulling them taut from the statues. 

He heard the Iron Bull give a low chuckle and his voice came out in a rasp. 

“There you go…” 

“Fenedhis!” Dorian hissed through gritted teeth. “Festis bei umo canavarum.” The Qunari got the idea, or maybe he spoke Tevene, because he pressed down again, harder, working the space loose enough for a second of his thick fingers, and then Dorian gave a loud, keening moan, trying to push back. Bound as he was, he could not.

His own member was weeping with need. But the Iron Bull had no intention of touching him yet. Instead he simply worked the Tevinter mage wider and then, carefully withdrew, leaving Dorian feeling strangely empty and aching. There was the sound of the oil being slicked again, and the scent of it caught in the air. Maker, they would never be able to hide it. 

And then there was a greater pressure, and Dorian felt the weight of the Qunari pressing him down into the firm mattress. And the man’s large member pressed against him before finally teasing him open, wider, deeper. And Dorian whimpered.

The Qunari went slow. He always did. Control and power wrapped up into a massive and imposing force. He eased inward, deeper than Dorian remembered he could go, until finally his hips met the curves of Dorian’s hindquarters, and he paused. 

Maker, the sensation of being full. He stayed there like that a moment, just trying to wrap his head around what his body was already wrapped around, panting softly. He could feel the sweat on his brow, on his chest and back. And then he felt fingers twining into his hair, coaxing him to look up a little.

“Say please,” Bull breathed hotly, his mouth catching Dorian’s neck again. Dorian did not even fight.

“…Please…” 

And the Bull gave in. He rocked his hips, long and deep, and Dorian’s world exploded into stars. His hands were sore in fists about the rope. He curled his toes and let the sensations consume him. Everything was a raging inferno of passion and desire and need. 

The Bull’s thrusts caused him to rock against the rough silk of the Inquisitor’s bed. That made him groan as the pleasure was teased from him. He could hear Bull’s breath, feel it hot on his shoulder, and the weight of the man pressed him down towards the bed, firm and secure and oh so sweet. 

And then Bull stiffened above him, and Dorian collapsed panting as the Qunari cried out twice, groaning as he came. Dorian felt it and sank down, half-languid. And the Qunari bent his forehead to rest on Dorian’s shoulder blades. And then, finally, he drew back.

Dorian groaned as he drew free, and then whimpered because his own member ached, desperate for more, desperate for…

Fenedhis!

He felt the ropes loosen, made a face as the Iron Bull turned him over, coaxing him onto his back, and squinted against the bright light from the stained glass windows. And then hot, warm, damp heat enveloped his member, and he gave a long, low moan, his hands straying down. He found the Bull’s hair, a military cut behind his horns that was so short it felt like fuzz on his fingers, and then he the sensation was too much. His fingers curled around one of the Qunari’s horns and he tangled the other in the Inquisitor’s silken sheets, melting into the fire. 

The pressure was too much. He could not think. Every inch of him was flooded with heat, so much so it was near unbearable.

And then sweet release. He tensed, his back arching a little, his hips bucking. He felt the Iron Bull hold him down, and he felt the soft suction as the man swallowed his spilling seed. 

And then he lay back, spent and worn, chest rising and falling in the quiet of the room. 

The Iron Bull at last drew back, leaving him cold and sated where his mouth had been, and then carefully skimmed his hips and chest with his gentle hands before catching Dorian’s mouth in a tender kiss. Dorian tasted the salt and sweet of his seed there and groaned, pushing back a little, shaking his head. 

“You’re terrible,” he groaned. “There is no way we can hide that we’ve been here…” He just wanted to curl up and sleep now. Bull seemed to know it too. He wrapped him in large arms and set his chin on the top of Dorian’s head.

“I know,” he said simply. Dorian groaned, this time not from pleasure, and then sighed. “I’ll handle the Inquisitor. Don’t worry.” Dorian’s hips were still a bit sore. He rubbed at his wrists a little where the ropes had lain, and then turned away, forcing himself to rise.

He swung his clothes about him, doing up the buckles with a practiced care, even though his fingers fumbled with the straps a little, and he felt like his hands may give way, and then he took another look at the Qunari bed.

“It really is ludicrous,” he said with a sniff as Iron Bull hauled his trousers back up and fastened his belt and then set about untangling the silken curtain cords from the statues and…Maker, he had tied it to the bolted-down candle holders standing on either side of the furniture. Dorian grimaced, shame-faced.

“So are you. I’m proud of you,” Bull grinned, eyeing up the mussed covers that stank of sex and spiced Orlesian oils. “You didn’t set anything on fire.” Dorian gave him a dark look.

“Like a complete savage, you’ve ruined all the furniture.” Bull just gave him a lopsided grin, tying the curtains back again one by one.

“Nah,” was the reply, “It’s Qunari furniture, none of that poncy Orlesian crap. It’s used to such treatment.” He grinned as he worked. Dorian just fastened his last buckle and straightened his silk robes with a sigh before doing his best to smooth the rough silk covers. The memory of it on his member made him swallow hard. He was distracted enough that he did not notice that Bull had finished with the curtains and come to wrap his arms about him from behind, nuzzling his ear with a self-satisfied hum. “I like you bound in silk with your ass in the air.” Dorian flushed and pulled back, glaring at the man with his hazel gaze under red cheeks.

“Indeed,” he said curtly. Bull just grinned.

“Come on. Let’s got out of here.” 

“Maybe we should…open some windows. Air it out?” Dorian asked, but there was oil on the silk sheets and even airing the room out would not hide that. Bull just laughed.

“No hiding this,” he said simply. “But if we leave now, Adaar won’t know who was here.” Dorian grimaced, and at his shame-faced look, the Qunari gave a roaring laugh, catching his hand and pulling him back towards the door. “Come on…before the Inquisitor comes back. Red can probably only distract him for so long.” And he hurried down the steps with the confidence of a mercenary captain. Dorian stalked after him, giving the room a final distasteful sniff.

It was not a moment too soon as they slipped out into the main hall. The door to Josephine’s office opened moments later, and the Inquisitor and his advisors emerged, still discussing last minute details between themselves. Inquisitor Adaar considered them both with wary dark eyes, then gave them a cordial greeting before slipping away. Bull nodded a hello, then gave Dorian a wink and slipped away, leaving Dorian with Lady Montilyet and Leliana. The Lady Ambassador bowed to him, then went to greet a few visiting dignitaries, and Dorian shifted a little uncomfortably, hoping he smelled less like sex than he thought he did. He fixed Leliana with a look.

“Err…Lady Nightingale…I don’t suppose…thank you…for your assistance.” Leliana just gave him a flat look, face calm and cool.

“What assistance?” she said simply, and then turned away, leaving him standing there. And for the life of him Dorian did not know whether she was covering or actually unaware.

**Author's Note:**

> NOTES:  
> Festis Bei Umo Canavarum: You will be the death of me.


End file.
